Chapter Twenty-Six
theo
After the girls stole my fiancée, I took a long, well-deserved shower, poured myself a glass of whiskey, and I sat at my desk like an abandoned man, staring at the prenup I’d already marked to hell.
Romantic, I know.
It’s insane that the very first thing people offer when you say, “Hey, I might propose,” is a stack of paperwork thicker than a jet engine manual.
Nobody hands you champagne. Nobody congratulates you on finding the one person who makes your blood pressure spike in the best and worst ways.
No. They say, “Do you want your prenup in PDF or Docx?”
She’s going to hate this. Sam’s the kind of woman who breaks out in stress hives if she needs to sign five documents in a row. But this is the world we operate in.
And I’d rather she complain about it now than feel unprotected later.
People get prenups when they have nothing.
When the only thing they’re dividing is who gets the futon and who gets the cat.
But Sam? She has money. Whether she likes it or not.
Whether she wants it or not. And she could have even more if she ever worked things out with her father…
which she won’t. But, I know better than to bet against her stubbornness morphing into a long-term plan at twenty-six.
She has a trust fund she refused to touch when she turned twenty-one.
She looked at all that money and said, essentially, “No thanks, I’d rather work”, which is admirable, but she’s still young, and she might change her mind in the long run, and I need to protect her even from the parts of herself she hasn’t figured out yet.
My money? I don’t care. She could take every account I have, and it’d be worth it if she still looked at me the way she did the morning after I proposed— sleepy and smug like she owned me. Which she does.
But being a billionaire means you use your damn brain. And this? This is smart.
Annoying, but smart.
Incoming call: Mayle
“Hey, Mayle, thanks for getting back to me.” Mayle has been my lawyer since the day I made my first million—aka the day I realized having money is great until someone tries to take it and you don’t know how to stop them.
She’s saved my ass more times than I can count, and I probably owe her a quarter of my money because of that. I wish I could put her on my payroll now, but I know she wouldn’t want to work under a family-dynasty-type company. “Of course,” she says. “Did you read the prenup?”
“Yes. There’s only one tiny detail I want to fix.” She stayed quiet for a bit. “What tiny detail, Theodore?” She only says my full name when she’s mocking me. Or when she’s about to tell me I’m being an idiot. Both are possible here. “I need to add a clause.”
“What clause?” Sam is going to kill me for this. Kill me, resurrect me just to yell at me again, and then kill me a second time.
“That she needs to cash her trust fund before we get married,” I say. “And that none of that money is allowed anywhere near Hayes International or me.” There’s silence, then a laugh. “She’s going to kill you.”
“Well aware.”
“I’ll work on it,” She says, still amused. “Thanks, Mayle.”
“Always. I’ll send the revised draft soon.
” She hangs up, and the office goes quiet, too quiet.
My brain fills the silence with a thousand thoughts, none of them helpful.
Sam is young. She still has time to grow, to change, and to chase things she hasn’t even dreamed up yet.
Me? I’ve already lived ten lifetimes in a decade.
I’ve built empires, crashed a few, learned every lesson the hard way.
She, on the other hand, is still in the part of life where she discovers who she wants to be.
And I’m asking her to anchor herself to me.
She loves me—stupidly, recklessly, beautifully. I know that.
She’s in this with both feet. But the last thing I want is for loving me to cost her anything, or in this case, everything. I don’t want her to ever wake up one day and think I rushed her into a life she wasn’t finished choosing.
I blow out a breath, louder than necessary. I don’t want to fuck this up.
My phone pings and yanks me out of my spiral. And when I see the messages, I can’t help but laugh, really laugh.
Sam: Im hvkf so mhc funnnnn!
Sam: havkl so mjhd*
Sam: having so much fun*
She’s adorable. And so goddamn sexy even when she forgets how consonants work.
Me: You are clearly hvkf so mhc fun.
Three dots appear, they vanish, and then they return. Like she’s waging war with her thumbs.
Sam: Dont bully me 1A
Me: Never, Mrs. Jones.
I barely get the message sent before she fires back.
Sam: SOON TO BE YOURS!!!!!
My whole body reacts like she just whispered it into my ear while climbing onto my lap.
Fuck, I love this woman. And I’m going to make her my wife.
Me: Keep texting me like that, and I’ll go pick you up.
Me: And I’ll remind you exactly what happens when you call yourself mine.
There’s a long pause. Suspiciously long pause. Then…
Sam: is that a promise or a threeot
Sam: thrat*
Sam: oh my god threAT*
I grin, sharp, wicked, already imagining her flushed and tipsy and trying to tell the girls she ‘needs a second’.
Me: Threat. Promise. Same thing when I’m the one putting you to bed.
Another pause. Then a message that has me sitting forward like a starving man.
Sam: …what if i dont wnt you to put me to bed tonighttt
Sam: I meen yeah put me in the bed
Sam: buut not to bed bed
Sam: like fkihng me type of putting me.
If she keeps going, I’m driving across the city and throwing her over my damn shoulder and bringing her home.
Me: Then you better get your fun out now, sweetheart.
Me: Because when you get home, I will put you in our bed, with your legs wide open for me.
Sam: ohhhhhh im telling the girls u talk like this to me
Sam: actng all mr respectable ceo in public
Sam: but in my phone u a MENACE
I bite back a laugh.
Me: Always for you.
Me: And only because you like it.
Sam: …maybeeee
Sam: ok yeah i like it
Yeah. No shit.
I drag a hand down my face. She’s drunk. She’s flirty. She’s mine. And she has no idea I’m two seconds from finding her and reminding her exactly what she signed up for when she said, “Soon to be mine.”
My phone vibrates again. This time it’s a picture. And I think I stop breathing when I see it.
She is in front of the bathroom mirror, her dress is hitched up around her waist, covering just enough. Her panties were in her hand like she had just peeled them off for me and needed evidence. Her thighs pressed together like she’s holding back what she really wants.
Sam: i cant walk out there with thsse on
Sam: they are soaked becasee of you
Sam: will you do something about it mr jones???
All of a sudden, she can type perfectly. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. My cock goes hard instantly—painfully, humiliatingly fast.
Me: Samantha. You’re playing with fire.
Sam: maybe i want to burnnn
I drag in a breath so sharp it hurts.
Me: Put the panties back on, pull your dress down, and get back to your friends before I actually lose my goddamn mind.
Three dots. Then another picture. Her panties are now wrapped around her fingers like some sort of trophy.
Sam: too late 1A
Sam: i already lost mine
Sam: and these panties are soaaakked
Sam: im not putting them back onnn
Me: When you get home…
Me: I’m going to make you tell me exactly what you were thinking while you took that picture.
Me: Every detail.
Me: On your knees, while you touch yourself.
She types, stops, then types again.
Sam: im nt waiting till i get home
Sam: im throbbing
Sam: theo im serious
Fuck.
Me: Are you wet right now?
Me: Why the hell are you wet? What are you doing?
Sam: theo
Sam: im in a bathroom
Me: I didn’t ask where you were
Me: I asked, why are you wet right now? And what were you doing?
She’s typing, a bubble pops up, then disappears. Comes back. Then, a picture. Now I’m losing my fucking mind. She’s sitting on the counter, dress still bunched at her waist, knees parted. I can’t see shit, but she has her hand right there between her legs.
Sam: i’m sooo wet right now
Me: Sam, don’t you dare touch yourself in that bathroom. Let me do that when you get home.
I grip the edge of my desk hard enough to crack it.
Sam: too late
Sam: my legs are shaking already
I curse under my breath, dragging my hands through my hair because if I had the keys in my hand, I’d be out the door.
Me: Samantha!
Sam: what are you going to do about it huh??
Another picture comes in, and I’m already walking to the door, because I know that what I’m about to see will be enough to send me straight to her.
Her legs are parted, and she has one finger in.
I can see how wet she is, even from this picture.
She’s blushing, biting her lip. And when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, she sent another text.
Sam: PLEASE come and get me soon bt hs hudnsk
Sam: i’m so wet for you i need you insde of me NOW
Sam: my pussk is rdhy for you
Even with all the typos, this is the dirtiest text she has sent me.
I pull up outside the bar like a man who has been possessed.
The second I step inside, I spot her.
She’s trying, trying, to pretend she’s fine. She’s laughing too hard, shifting in her seat too much, biting her lip every time her thighs press together. The girls are distracted, which is the only reason she hasn’t combusted yet.
She looks up, and her entire body reacts like she’s been waiting for me for hours. Her breath stutters. Her hand grips the edge of the table. Her knees go tight, like she’s holding onto whatever torture I left her with. “Theo…”
I lean down, brush my mouth near her ear, and murmur low enough for only her, “Stand up, let’s go.” She does, shaky, flushed, pupils blown. Rose snorts, “Why does Sam look like she’s seeing Jesus?”
“Good night, ladies, I’ll have a driver on standby for all of you when you’re ready to leave, just so you get home safe.”
My hand slides around Sam’s waist—firm, possessive, and I steer her out of the bar. She doesn’t protest. She practically melts into my arms. The girls look at each other, nod, thank me, and just laugh.
The second the car door shuts, she’s on the edge of the seat, thighs rubbing, breath unsteady.
I start the car, and she puts a hand on my thigh.
And her other hand? It slides down between her legs.
Oh fuck. I grip the wheel until my knuckles go white.
“Sam,” I warn. She looks at me with that needy, drunk, reckless softness that’s going to end me.
“I waited,” she whispers.
Her voice is a tremor. “But—I can’t anymore. It’s too much, Theo.” Her fingers move under her dress. I can barely see in this darkness, but I see the movement. “You’re going to make me crash the damn car. ”
“Then don’t drive. Do me right here,” she breathes, leaning closer, her forehead almost on my shoulder, as her hand starts to undo my pants.
“Samantha.” My voice is rough, dark. She laughs, opens her legs even wider, one leg on the passenger door, the other by the console, takes one finger into her mouth, then into her.
I don’t know how I didn’t fucking crash on the way home.
But the moment the door closed behind us, she’s done, we’re done.
I press her back against it, caging her in. Her chest rises fast, desperate. She reaches for me, but I’m done being patient. I grab her hips, turn her, and guide her straight toward the kitchen like I’ve lost every civilized bone in my body. She stumbles, laughing breathlessly, “Theo—”
“Don’t.” My voice is low, lethal. “You knew exactly what you were doing the whole way here. Now it’s my turn.
” Her back hits the edge of the counter.
I step between her legs, spreading them with my hands until she gasps.
I drag her dress up, slow and ruthless, exposing her inch by inch until she’s trembling.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my mouth hovering over her stomach, her hips. “Shaking and dripping wet for me.”
She closes her eyes, head dropping back. I tilt her chin up with a single finger.
“Keep your eyes open,” I ordered. “You’re not missing a second of how I’ll make you fall apart.” Then I pull her up to the counter, right where I want her, where she can feel every move, where she knows exactly what I’m about to do without me having to describe it. I kiss her thigh.
She’s trembling, and I can see how wet she is right now. And when she whispers, “Theo, please—”
I grip her thighs, drag her closer, and give her exactly what she’s been begging for since the first text she sent tonight.